


Cord

by lifeofroonilwazlib



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Anger, Angst, Annabeth Chase & Thalia Grace Friendship, Canon Compliant, Dark Annabeth Chase, Dark Percy, F/M, Grover (Percy Jackson) is a Good Friend, Hurt/Comfort, Personal Growth, Pining, Post-Tartarus (Percy Jackson), Post-Tartarus Trauma, Recovery, Romance, anti-olympus sentiment, because seven years later I'm not over it, just intense percabeth, uncontrolled powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27060445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofroonilwazlib/pseuds/lifeofroonilwazlib
Summary: The war is won and camp is being rebuilt, but every time Annabeth touches Percy she feels like the world is going to end.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 35
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

After years of sitting on the beach at camp and studying them, Percy knew the wave patterns well. The sea here was gentler than the surrounding waters, and the waves always converged, lulling to a soft _whoosh_ on the sand. They never failed to calm him. The salty wind rolling off the water would coat him like a second skin and his heartbeat would fall into line with the rhythm of the tides.

It was the morning after Gaea had sunk back into the earth and Leo had exploded in the sky. Percy had panicked at the thought of sword practice in the arena after breakfast and had made a beeline for his favourite spot on the beach – a small cove surrounded by boulders and tide pools that couldn’t be seen from camp.

Last night, his exhaustion and finally being home after months had been enough to make him collapse in Cabin Three. But this morning, despite a rare night of dreamless sleep, the exhaustion hadn’t left. Then, when Chiron had suggested light swordplay to distract everyone, Percy had clammed up. The idea of fighting with Riptide again, even if it was just against a straw dummy, had made his hands tremble. Every time he grasped the leather-bound hilt in his hands, memories of dropping the sword as the forces of Tartarus swarmed around him rose to the surface.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to draw Riptide. _Anaklusmos_ was a sword of sacrifice and bravery and heroes. Not teenage boys who sat safe under the sun and stars while those who put him there suffered miles and miles below. Maybe this was how it would be from now on – he’d just have to stay away, let himself drown in shame.

Plus, there were still so many people to greet, old friendships to restore, questions to answer, but Percy didn't really want to see anyone, except –

“Hey,” said a voice behind him.

Percy whirled around, surprised he had been found, until he saw who had spoken. Annabeth stood on one of the boulders that shielded the cove.

“Hi,” he said.

Of course she had found him. He always noticed everything she did in a crowd, and he had a feeling she did the same for him. He should have known she’d follow. Maybe he’d been banking on it.

Percy stood and helped her down. As he clasped her hand, he noticed his own had stopped trembling. She was smiling at him, in a way that was less about teeth and more about her eyes. And despite the dullness in his chest, despite the aches all over his body and inside his head, Percy found himself smiling back.

She had this effect on him. When he was around Annabeth, Percy found his ADHD went into overdrive and he started seizing on little details, like the specific shape of her curls, or the slant of her mouth, and the outside world, all the dread and shame, faded away. Holding her hand, he realised he hadn’t seen her, touched her, since the battle yesterday.

Percy sat her down in the sand. He suddenly thought that there was _way_ too much distance between them, so he moved in to kiss her, but her expression stopped him. Her eyes shone bright silver rather than their usual storm-cloud grey. She seemed to be scanning his face, absorbing everything she saw.

Normally, Percy would have felt self-conscious if Annabeth looked at him like that. Recently, though, he’d found himself slipping into the shade, darkness threatening to blur the edges of his body. Her gaze was like being thrust back into the light.

Her fingers traced his cheekbones, his eyelashes, the bridge of his nose. As they passed over his lips, Percy felt them trembling violently.

“Annabeth –”

“Is it wrong?” She said, withdrawing her hands suddenly and looking at him, all wide grey irises. Before Percy could ask what she meant, the words spilled out of her like she was afraid she’d lose her nerve.

“Is it wrong to feel relieved? That we’re both –“ she looked down into the sand “ – back?”

Percy thought, not for the first time, that Annabeth was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She didn’t need to explain herself. Of course they ought to be relieved – they had just won another war. But Percy didn’t really care. He was just thankful, for her _,_ for himself, for the fact that they were still together. For that, and _only_ that.

And although he couldn’t sleep, or lift his sword, despite Leo, as Percy looked at Annabeth in front him, aglow with the unique warmth of midday Camp sun, the resentment inside him began to ebb.

“Of course not,” Percy said, grabbing her and pulling her close to him. “Gods, Annabeth…” As Percy leaned in her expression changed infinitesimally – to regret? Disappointment? But then their lips folded together and he forgot to think about it.

It had been too long since they’d had the chance for this, to be _alone_ like this. Percy ached to touch her skin and make her gasp in a way that was reserved only for him. Since being reunited, they’d been fighting for their lives, and Percy had been getting by on stolen moments behind closed cabin doors, but now, with the rocks shutting them off from the world and only the open sea in front of them, Percy was starting to remember how good it felt to kiss Annabeth when imminent death wasn’t breathing down their necks.

This wasn’t like any kiss they had shared on this beach before. When he had last been at camp, Annabeth had been Percy’s best friend, girlfriend and a bright part of his future. Now, he gripped her more desperately. She was all that and more – his strongest memory, his most painful need, intrinsically woven in to his worst experiences. _And the best ones,_ he reminded himself, _you share more than Tartarus._

Percy tried to clear his thoughts. It seemed even Annabeth’s lemony shampoo couldn’t keep the despair at bay for longer than a few minutes. So instead, he focused on the physical things. Overthinking was _not_ his game. He had to remember that.

She opened her mouth at the first push from his lips. Percy loved that about her – how responsive she was to his touch. Already she was leaning into him, one hand snaking up his back and thighs sliding over his lap. Could she read him that easily? Could she know, immediately, that he wanted to lose himself in her and simply be obliging? _Or maybe_ , Percy thought in the back of his mind, _she wants the same thing_. He still couldn’t believe it sometimes, that someone like her wanted _him._

Percy felt all the old self-doubt, amazement and nervousness swelling up inside him, but right at that moment she threw her weight on him and pushed them down onto the sand. Her whole body pressed against his almost wiped his mind clean.

Almost.

Somewhere inside him, behind some vital organ, something began to burn. Percy kissed her harder, leaving her lips and traveling all over her face and neck. He went on autopilot, not really thinking about what was happening but just knowing that he needed to get as close to her as possible. His mind left their little cove on the beach and settled in his memories of burning in the Styx, and looking up to see Annabeth smiling at him. _Remember your lifeline, dummy!_

He felt the same way now, like his skin was roasting on an open fire, but this time his arms were wrapped firmly around the real thing, and the burning didn’t seem to be going away.

She was fisting the fabric of his shirt, giving him signals he knew well. And so the shirt was off. Percy relished in her arms and hands and mouth sliding all over his body.

With the salt in the air, the waves in his ears, and Annabeth everywhere else, Percy felt the burning inside him grow to a searing flame, and he had a terrifying flashback to drinking the Phlegathon. It roiled in his chest until he felt a familiar tugging sensation in his gut. He was busy ignoring it when –

“What – ?“ Annabeth pulled away suddenly, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. For a split second, before he realised what was happening, Percy admired the view. The sun shone behind Annabeth’s head, setting her hair on fire and catching on the high points of her face – a masterpiece sculpted from gold. With her camp beads dangling inches above him and the ocean rising up in a tidal wave around her, Percy wanted to freeze time and stare at the sight before him till he withered away.

Then, of course, he focused on the colossal wave. On impulse, he flipped them over to cover Annabeth with his own body, willed a shield around them and brought the water crashing down. As it smashed down around the circle Percy had kept dry for them, he locked eyes with Annabeth. Confusion, worry, and maybe a little panic swirled with the clouds in her eyes.

The beach was soaked. They had maybe five minutes before other campers would arrive, wondering why the north of their camp had been doused with salt water.

Annabeth’s body was tense under his.

“What was that?” She asked, her words so soft the wind threatened to blow them away.

Percy pushed himself off the ground. His skin was still tingling and the longer he was pressed against Annabeth the more that tugging sensation threatened to come back. Annabeth was still staring at him, a thousand calculations running across her face that Percy couldn’t hope to decipher. If he ignored the upended ocean around them and just focused on her – propped on her elbows and legs splayed out – Percy could almost imagine they were enjoying a picnic in Central Park. Like they used to, before.

“I – I don’t know,” he muttered, trailing off.

The silence before she spoke was too long. Percy still couldn’t read her face, and he had a strange feeling she was masking it off on purpose. He knew her well enough to know nothing with Annabeth was accidental. _Athena always has a plan._

“Don’t apologise,” she said, breaking off eye contact. “We just –”

The rumble of raised voiced and the clatter of celestial bronze came from behind the boulders. The campers had arrived.

Annabeth sprang up. “Come on,” she said, and leapt onto and over the rocks. Percy hesitated a moment, then scrambled for his shirt and followed.

Piper stood at the front of the group. “Annabeth,” she said, “what happened? We saw this huge wave. Are you guys okay?”

Percy couldn’t find his voice. What was he supposed to say? _We were making out and I’m so unstable I brought the ocean down on camp?_

He didn’t have too long to think. “We thought we saw a sea serpent. Percy summoned a wave, but it was a false alarm,” Annabeth filled in, smoothly. Percy stared at her – his saviour, his protector, always there with a knife and some quick thinking, leading him out of the woods. “Nothing to worry about,” she finished, with a terse smile to Piper.

Piper nodded uncertainly and the campers milled off. Percy stepped in front of Annabeth as she moved to follow them.

“Thanks,” he said. She didn’t reply.

Percy opened his mouth to speak again, but the rights words were still out of reach. They flitted around his head, taunting and dodging his attempts to catch them. _I’m sorry. Stay with me. I love you._ He had the feeling that despite his best efforts, the water had fallen into the space between them and calcified like a shell.

“Reyna and Chiron are waiting for me at the Big House,” she said. She squeezed his shoulder, briefly, and walked away, sand still sticking to her arms and legs from when she had kissed him against the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's been many years since HoO ended, so just a disclaimer I might get some details wrong! I'm still not over the possibilities of post-Tartarus Percabeth, if you didn't realise.


	2. Chapter 2

As usual, Annabeth couldn’t sleep. Since falling into Tartarus, her REM cycle had fallen way out of touch. She’d come not to mind it so much – at least being awake meant she wasn’t dreaming. Tonight, however, even with her eyes open, the familiar nightmares burned in her mind. Not for the first time, Annabeth cursed her imagination. Without wanting or trying to, she was picturing her nightmares flashing across the pale grey ceiling of cabin six like a projection.

The swirling vortex of Tartarus’s face, threatening to suck her in. Bob’s eyes as the elevator doors slid shut, a hurricane of monsters behind him. Arachne’s cackle, echoing through the fall into the Pit. And Percy, always Percy, surrounded with streams of poison, hanging listlessly off Bob’s shoulder, shrouded in Death Mist, sword drawn, expression lethal.

A new image interrupted the usual stream – Percy’s expression as the wave had come crashing down around them earlier that day. He’d looked at her with that open desire before, but there had been this _edge_ to it. Something jagged that had said, _anything, I’ll do anything for this_. _So would I,_ she had wanted to reply, _but isn’t that the problem?_

This wasn’t helping. The silence from her siblings, the peacefulness of the cabin, the empty ceiling – it was too easy to think too much. She climbed out of her bed, threw on her Yankees cap, and padded her way to the door until she stood facing the courtyard.

What now? For a second, Annabeth’s gaze caught on cabin three, where she knew Percy was, alone. Her body ached. She felt that pull – the one that had propelled her to find him today when he’d slunk off to the beach, the one that had basically carried her through Tartarus and Percy’s disappearance. The one that Annabeth knew was a little too strong for 17-year-olds to be feeling.

She shook her head. No. She needed a distraction – running to Percy and jumping his bones was not going to help (but, _gods,_ she wanted to). Besides, she wasn’t sure he would even want to see her. The way she had just left him on the beach, when he’d looked at her so pleadingly and asked for help…

Annabeth clutched the dagger she had tucked into her waistband. Somewhere along the way, blades had become her defence against _all_ monsters, not just the ancient Greek ones. She just never thought she’d find them inside her own head.

Within seconds, she was at the practice arena, hacking at a dummy someone had left out. Other campers always complained about daggers. But as she whirled around the dummy and slashed at hard-to-reach spots with cuts that would have debilitated the arteries of any real foe, Annabeth thought to herself that other half-bloods just didn’t know how to use them. Luke had taught her well.

Annabeth sliced the dummy harder.

Her eyes stung and she felt hot blood bubbling in her chest. It wasn’t _fair_. This new dagger balanced okay enough, but its hilt was too narrow, her fingers didn’t slide into comfortable grooves, and its blade was duller. The old knife, the cursed blade, was sitting at the bottom of Tartarus somewhere, with Dedalus’s laptop, with some crucial part of Annabeth herself, surrounded by monster goo and acid air and –

“Next time you go invisible, try to remember that practice dummies don’t spontaneously combust.”

Annabeth cursed and whirled around, wondering how to play this. It was Thalia. All the stories and excuses flew from her mind. Annabeth knew when a battle was lost.

“Not usually, anyway,” Thalia said, spreading her arms. Annabeth snatched off her hat and ran into them. Thalia’s scent of fresh leaves and clean animal fur mixed with the spark of static electricity.

The hug was like a portal. Suddenly, she was on the streets of Richmond, beat up and bruised and happy, holding the hands of the first people that had looked at her and seen something worth loving. _Something permanent._

“How’ve you been, Annabeth?”

The question hung in the air. “Dealing _,”_ she said, eventually.

_Trying to. With myself, with Percy, with Tartarus, Leo, Arachne, Bob, Luke, Athena, you –_

“I’m sorry,” Thalia said quickly. “That was a stupid thing to ask. I mean, _Tartarus,_ Annabeth,” she hit Annabeth with a piercing stare, “ _how?_ Even Artemis wouldn’t…”

Usually, Annabeth liked that Thalia always got straight to the point. But this time, the answer was a little too simple and a little too clear.

“I had Percy,” she said. And that’s all it was, really. That was the _how_ of it all.

Thalia’s eyes burned into Annabeth. She was glowing a little, like she always did in the moonlight. Annabeth could tell her hunter instincts were kicking in and she was picking up on the details. Like how Annabeth’s hair had lost some of its golden shine. How her cuticles were bloody. And that her voice had caught when she’d said Percy’s name.

“Percy Jackson…” Thalia shook her head a little, and smoothed Annabeth’s hair down. Even though Annabeth looked markedly older than Thalia now, that big-sister instinct had never really left. “Well, I’m glad you found him. I’m glad he –” She averted her startling blue eyes and stared at the ground, as if ashamed. “I’m glad he stayed.”

_He stayed_. The words bounced around Annabeth’s head. She thought of her parents shunning her, Luke betraying her and Percy, steady at the eye of the storm _._ Amnesia and immortality, labyrinths and cliffs and the pits of hell –

“He stayed,” Annabeth breathed. “Thalia, I have to go.” A small part of her felt bad about abandoning Thalia. The rest was giving in.

The camp around her seemed to blur as she picked up speed on her way to cabin three. She felt a stab of fear at the memory of uncontrolled power on Percy’s face, at the sight of her knife held aloft in her hand as she ran, ready to slash through anything that got in her way.

As she closed in on the abalone-encrusted walls, she ground her feet so hard into the ground her heart seemed to tear through her chest and smash into the door.

_You can’t do this,_ she tried to tell herself. _You can’t keep launching at him and pulling him into pits._

It was with a trembling hand that she knocked on the door. Normally, when it came to a midnight rendezvous with Percy, jumping in through the window and shaking him awake was more her speed. But her confidence shook beneath the weight of the last few weeks.

He opened the door too quickly to have been asleep. But not for a lack of trying, it seemed. His hair and t-shirt were alarmingly rumpled, but his eyes when they fixed on Annabeth were as steady and alert as ever.

“Hey,” she said, acutely aware that he hadn’t stepped back to let her in.

“Is everything okay?” _Why are you here?_

_I don’t know. I couldn’t help it. “_ Yeah, everything’s fine.”

She toyed with her Yankees cap. Since when had talking to him become so nerve-racking? This was _Percy._ Drooling, oblivious, sincere, brave, funny, stubborn _Percy_.

She tried to focus on that and forced a small smile onto her face. “You going to let me in, Seaweed Brain?”

At that, the old sheepish smile came back, though Annabeth could tell there was a little too much effort there, like there had been with hers. “You going to wait for permission, Wise Girl?”

He stepped back all the same, and she felt a giddy lightness in her chest. “Not likely,” she said, the smile a little more real this time. This little semblance of the old ease – was it all she needed?

She followed him into the cabin. Weeks of abandonment had left a sprinkle of dust on most of the surfaces, but that couldn’t hide the transformation it had gone through in the six months that Percy had been missing and she’d basically moved in. Her stuff was everywhere – books, sketches for Olympus, women’s armor, even her old teddy bear. She couldn’t help but notice it was all untouched. On Percy’s bunk, it looked like he’d gingerly crawled in on only one side of the bed, careful not to move the scrolls and clothes she’d carelessly tossed aside. Annabeth usually cherished the reputation that made her siblings wary of touching her stuff, but something about the painstaking preservation of it all rent at her heart.

Percy waited at the door. She recognised the nervousness in his tapping foot.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she supplied, willing to say anything to fill the yawning silence.

“Yeah, me neither,” he replied. It didn’t really need to be said. They both knew that sleep was hard to come by for the other. There had been enough desperate nights on the _Argo II_ for that.

The silence stretched again. Percy’s water fountain, the gift from Poseidon, gurgled in the corner. Annabeth’s insides slowly shrivelled. Arguing, ribbing, flirting, that was all on brand for them. But this? Awkward silence and painful small talk? Maybe that little exchange at the door had been a product of her wishful thinking. She tried not to think of Percy’s face in the warm glow of the stables on the _Argo II,_ nervously telling her about a place they could grow old together. Maybe, despite her best efforts (or _because_ of them), her attempt at building something permanent was falling apart. Again.

The thought made Annabeth want to scream, like so many other things these days.

They both spoke at the same time. “I’m sorry – ”

And abruptly cut off.

“Why are you sorry?” Annabeth demanded.

Percy gave her an incredulous look. “Why am _I_ sorry? How can you ask that?”

Annabeth recognised the tense, defensive set to his shoulders. She shrugged, knowing that it would get a rise out of him. And hoping, maybe, a little.

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” he grumbled. Annabeth welcomed the beginnings of the argument. Arguing meant no silence.

“Maybe I just don’t specialise in _your_ obtuse way of thinking,” she bit back.

“Maybe _you’re_ just getting rusty,”

“Seaweed versus wisdom, Percy, how many times – ”

“Might be time for a change in nicknames,”

“Please, that’s my game and you know – ”

“The wave, Annabeth!” Percy dropped the pretence. Annabeth couldn’t help but get annoyed. She’d just been getting into the rhythm, and starting to forget that even by their standards, the basis of that argument had been flimsy. There was no wave now, but she felt the same as she had on the beach, cold and suddenly doused with reality.

She sighed. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said miserably.

“It was.” He cut her off when she began to retort. “You know it was. It might have been an accident, but still.” He averted his gaze. “What if,” he trained his eyes on the ceiling, as if willing himself to speak. “What if I’m losing control?”

_I think you are_ , Annabeth thought. _I think I am, too._ “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just an accident.”

He gave her a knowing look. _Why_ had she allowed him to read her so well?

“I don’t know, Annabeth. Lately, it feels like it’s all bubbling up and I’m getting tired of fighting it.”

She understood too well. All she wanted to do was go to him, press up against him, and tell him that. But she was scared. Of what he might do, of what she might do, of what might break. And so they marinated in silence again.

Annabeth was just thinking that maybe losing that control would be better than this godsforsaken silence when Percy spoke again. “Why were you sorry?” 

“Oh,” she picked at her sore cuticles, “I guess, because I left.” _And everything else._ Fear crawled up her throat so she kept talking. “I mean, I _did_ have to go see Chiron and Reyna, we’re having unbelievable problems with the strawberry fields. Gaea must have worked some kind of magic on them because no one, not even the satyrs or the Demeter cabin, can get them to regrow. At this rate our budget and financing model can’t – “

“Annabeth.” Percy cut her off, her name seeping out of his mouth like a sigh, a plea. She could practically see the tension rippling through his arms. Annabeth’s jaw twitched. Why was he insisting on bringing her crashing back down to reality?

_Fine_ , she thought, _you stubborn idiot. I’ll drop the act._

The control shed from her like constrictive clothing and she half-stumbled to him. Her feet found their way between his, her arms wrapped around his neck, and that monstrous pull that she’d been fighting for too long brought their lips crashing together. Everywhere her skin touched his, it breathed. _This_ was all she needed.

All day, she’d thought space was the answer. _Give him space, stay away, let him breathe._ But now, as Percy kissed her with a hot, open mouth, Annabeth began to seriously doubt her own logic.

She’d noticed on the ship, after they’d crawled out, that any space between them had become painful. They’d snuck into each other’s cabins most nights, and eventually even the prospect of spending a night alone made Annabeth itch for her knife. Now, she pressed closer, wanting him to touch her, _every_ part of her, until he burned away everything but skin.

It was _intoxicating_ , the way his body felt against hers, the way his gentleness slipped, just a little, when he grabbed her hair. Now that she’d loosened the control, it deserted her completely. She shoved him against the wall, biting at his neck, and he responded in kind, painting her body with his tongue. His hands were searing, slipping lower and lower under the waistband of her shorts until she was shaking. Annabeth’s t-shirt joined her self-restraint somewhere on Percy’s floor. 

In the back of her mind, she knew they were approaching an invisible threshold. The desperation they’d both felt since Tartarus had by no means faded, but their bodies had recovered. She was strong enough now to grip Percy’s waist with her legs and leave scratches and bruises all over his skin.

They weren’t on an open beach. It was well past midnight, and they were _alone._ Annabeth was so distracted by that fact (and Percy’s mouth on her breasts), she almost didn’t see the stone fountain threatening to fall.

If it hadn’t been for her Tartarus-honed reflexes, she would never have gotten to it time.

Within a second, her legs unravelled from around Percy and she sprang to the window, where the fountain was about to smash on the floor. As she dove underneath it and caught the basin with her fingertips, she only partly noticed the water it had once held cutting through the air like ice shards. Then, of course, it crashed down on her and, shirtless, soaked and freezing, Annabeth had no choice but to give it her full attention.

Percy turned to her, dazedly, too slowly. She remembered how fast he had been in Tartarus, and she almost didn’t know what to make of the blinking, confused boy in front of her.

“I…” he looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. The water on her skin shimmered. Realisation seemed to hit him like the master bolt. “ _Di immortales,_ Annabeth.”

Hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes alive with thought, he looked a little like he had on the ground at Camp Jupiter, with her knee on his chest after she’d judo-flipped him.

“What’s happening to me?” he said, dropping down to his knees and looking at her.

“I don’t know,” she said, and her throat itched with frustration, like it always did when she spoke those words.

Annabeth wanted to crawl to him and let him warm her up. But maybe her lack of control had done this. Guilt bubbled like acid inside her. First, she caused all this by dragging him into gods-damned _Tartarus_ and then she couldn’t muster the will to stop making it worse.

It wasn’t enough. Kissing him was _otherworldly_ but it wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. _Great,_ she thought, _mess up your boyfriend’s life and make him apologize. Real girlfriend-of-the-year material._

“Gods, stop apologizing,” she muttered. Indignation flashed across Percy’s face and Annabeth perked up a little, hoping they could smooth this all over with a little verbal sparring, but almost immediately his face fell again.

“What am I going to do?” He asked, and tentatively, as if sensing Annabeth’s shaking, painful resolve, reached out a hand to her. _This_ , _give us at least this._ She relented. Fingers wound together, and she felt that thrum, something between underwater kisses and Tartarus’s pulsing heartbeat. _Just this._

“Try to forget, I guess,”

“Huh. Forget. Imagine that.”

Annabeth had to laugh a little. She loved him for being able to make her do that, even now.

“What…“ he swallowed, “what are you going to do?”

She knew what he was asking. _Are you going to leave again?_

“I don’t know what the smartest choice is anymore,” she admitted. 

“You know what? I think I was right about needing a change in nicknames, _Wise Girl_ ,” he tried for a playful tone, but she still heard the exhaustion underneath.

He was probably right. She was getting tired of not knowing.

“I say,” Percy continued, clearing his throat, “If you don’t know what the smartest option is, go with whatever feels right.”

She considered that for a moment. Giving him space hadn’t really worked last time. But neither had a lack of it.

“You might be on to something,” she said anyway, slowly making her way to him. His arms came up with a sigh of relief, and she let herself sink into the safety of his embrace. At least that hadn’t changed. If it was all bad, the least she could do was enjoy his warmth before it all went to shit.

“As long as we’re together, right?” he said.

_As long as we’re together,_ she had said then, dangling over the edge of Tartarus.

Now, cloaked in too much experience and too many scars, she thought, _for better or worse._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up...  
> Leave a comment! :)

When Percy had woken that morning, Annabeth had already left. They’d fallen asleep on the floor, spare sheets wrapped around them. She had suggested the bed, and although Percy knew his bed was a luxury he’d only recently regained, he had been feeling nostalgic for the night in the stables. For a while there, it seemed like everything was back to normal – they had talked and laughed and kissed enough that Percy didn’t pay much mind to the strained silences and vice-like grips that punctuated the conversation. But in the morning it had been just him, and the spot on the floor next to him had grown cold.

The sheets had been slightly damp from Annabeth’s wet hair. When Percy had noticed, he’d sat on the floor, head between his knees, drowning in waves of shame. So the beach hadn’t been an isolated incident. The more Percy thought about it as he listlessly poked at his breakfast, the more a pattern started to emerge. The beach, the fountain, but also the toilets on the _Argo_ _II_ …and hadn’t a crack suddenly appeared in the bathroom sink this morning?

Unease crackled through him. He sat up in his seat at the Poseidon table and held his hands out in front of him. Was there a change there? His stomach twisted uneasily and Percy remembered that tugging sensation. It sat right under his skin, ready, waiting to be called to the surface. Could he push it back down? Bring it out, study it, tame it? Anticipate its next move?

Percy wanted answers. He wanted to enjoy his pancakes. He wanted to see his mom. And he wanted Annabeth.

Where in the Hades was she? He bristled a little, knowing she’d skipped out on him again. Maybe that wasn’t completely fair, but Percy thought at least one thing had been sorted out last night. _As long as we’re together. Together, Annabeth, doesn’t mean leaving before I wake up._

Breakfast hours were nearly over, and he hadn’t seen her. Suddenly, Percy was remembering what she’d told him about that winter morning all those months ago, when she’d woken up and been unable to find him. Ice started crystallizing underneath the annoyance.

He wasn’t _that_ guy. They weren’t _that_ clingy couple. But the coldness of the sheets that morning kept coming back to him, inching all over his skin.

“Gods be damned,” he muttered, knowing and not caring that they were probably listening. After everything, what was a little rumble of thunder?

He strode over to the Athena table and put his hands down next to Malcolm.

“Malcolm. Where – ”

“She went to train.” Malcolm replied hurriedly, inching away a little from Percy’s forearms. “That way.” He pointed towards the arena.

Percy nodded and turned away. Some part of him noticed Malcolm’s nervousness and wanted to know what the hell that was all about, but the rest of him was caught up in relief. Training. She was training. _But she’s not with me,_ said a voice, somewhere. Percy tried to ignore it, but he jogged off in the direction of the arena anyway. _With me. Together, together, together._

She was sparring with an Ares camper. He took a moment to let out his breath, but soon enough it caught again. Annabeth was always glorious when she was fighting. She was grace and cords of muscle. A vision with a bronze dagger. Her hair whipped around her head as she leapt, fly-aways clinging to her damp neck. Percy noticed that it looked the same when he kissed her, r _eally_ kissed her – curly and shining and caressing her skin like it was telling his hands what to do.

He took a seat near the top of stands, not wanting to distract her. Just because he couldn’t pick up his blade didn’t mean he couldn’t admire Annabeth with hers. His eyes trailed her movements, and he was just noticing her slashes passing a little too close to some vital organs and the Ares camper’s eyes widening in fear when Grover sat down next to him.

Percy smiled. He’d been reluctant to sit around and chat since they got back, but this was Grover. “G-man!” Percy said, and gave Grover a fist-bump.

Grover asked him the usual _how are you doing?_ and Percy replied with the usual _fine, I guess._ The satyr had arrived at camp yesterday, and he’d been one long-lost face Percy had really wanted to see. But between the repair work and the events at the beach, they’d both been too preoccupied to talk much beyond Grover’s initial overwhelmed goat-tackle.

“It’s good to have you back, Percy,” Grover said, looking out at Annabeth in the arena. “Camp wasn’t the same without you.”

“It’s changed a little,” Percy shrugged, thinking of Malcolm, and his own cabin, full of Annabeth’s things. Grover had changed, too. The nervous, twitchy satyr he had first met had pretty much disappeared. This was the Lord of the Wild.

“So have you. I mean, I know…the empathy link…I know how you feel.”

For once, Percy actually believed those words. He had almost forgotten about the empathy link. All those times he’d been about to die…

“Grover, you felt all that? You could have died, man!” Percy felt that sense of alarm, the panic that set in at the thought of his friends in danger. And with it came shame. How could he have forgotten?

“I don’t think so. The link’s been getting weak for a while now, so I only really feel the strong stuff.”

Percy squirmed. There was a lot of strong stuff.

“You guys will work it out. If anyone can, it’s you and…oh, Styx.” Grover was staring at the arena.

Annabeth had gotten hold of some rope, somehow. She whirled it around, snagging it on the dummy posts and any other hold she could find, working so fast with her wrist and dagger that Percy didn’t see the trap come together until it did. One minute the Ares camper was fending her blade off with some routine blocks, and the next, the rope was wrapped tight around his body. Too tight. Knots and loops cut into the camper’s skin, all over his arms and legs and throat. Annabeth stepped back and watched him struggle, head tilted.

“What is she doing? He’ll choke!” Grover bleated frantically, half rising out of his seat. “Annabeth!” He turned desperately to Percy.

But Percy was already bounding down the stands, riptide elongating in his hands. He barely heard the other campers’ panicked yells as the Ares camper slowly suffocated. He’d locked in on Annabeth’s face, and it made him run faster. Anger burned in her eyes, something frightening and frightened all at once.

He forced himself to stop right at the edge of the arena. “Annabeth,” he called, willing her to turn, to see him, to let that fierceness melt.

She turned. Percy saw the set of her shoulders, and in it the strain of holding up the sky, of keeping the Doors of Death closed. He saw himself, standing at the edge of Chaos, tethered to ground only by her voice. The anger shattered.

“Oh gods, oh _fuck_!” She immediately ran at the Ares camper, cutting him free. He collapsed, rubbing his neck and heaving. “Sherman, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hand over her mouth, and dropped to her knees.

Percy wanted to curl up on the ground with her, but appearances had to be maintained.

“Hey, man, sorry about that.” Percy said to Sherman, scratching the back of his head. How did you apologise for this? How did you explain this? “You know Annabeth didn’t – things are just…kind of hard, right now.” He winced. “You should probably get to the infirmary.”

Sherman sat up hurriedly, glared for a minute at Annabeth and Percy, then seemed to think better of it. He gave a furtive nod and ran off, clutching at his purpling neck.

Percy knew the other campers were watching. He felt their stares and whispers clouding his limbs like Death Mist. He dropped down next to Annabeth anyway.

She looked up at him, eyes red. “I just wanted to spar.” Her voice was thick, trembling like the rest of her body.

Percy thought about the blind determination with which she attacked Sherman, the way it had seeped from her face when he’d called to her. The leather hilt of riptide, out for the first time in two days, chafed uncomfortably against his hand, but Percy had always known one thing – when it came to saving Annabeth, he would jump into the fray with his sword drawn every time.

“So let’s spar,” he said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to help her up. “Together.” The word coated his tongue, a promise, an incantation.

She took his hand, but stood still and kept her knife at her side. “Percy, it’s probably not a good –”

“Show me what you got, Chase,” Percy interrupted. He tried to keep an inspiringly obnoxious smirk on his face and circled Annabeth, sword held out in front of him. It felt heavy in his hand, laden with too many fights, but Percy fought to keep his hold steady. _I can do this,_ he told himself, _as long as we’re together._

He jabbed at her. “You scared, Wise Girl?” Her feet moved a fraction, slowly sliding into a fighting stance so smoothly it seemed involuntary. He slashed, hoping to get more of a reaction. Last night, Percy hadn’t been able to bear Annabeth’s attempt to keep things light, but now he thought of how confidently she’d advanced on Sherman and if he could give her the chance to wear that mask, to feel something more than damaged, he damn well would.

Maybe they both needed a reminder that fighting was _fun_ , that the screech of celestial bronze was good for the soul.

So Percy lunged at her, closing the circle in tighter and tighter, goading, enticing, provoking –

_Clang._

Her knife came up blindingly fast and parried Riptide close to the hilt. Percy only just managed to twist away to keep himself armed. _Here we go_.

Over the years, Percy had gotten to know Annabeth’s skills with a knife pretty well, but still she moved unpredictably, flying around him and getting in close enough that he only _just_ managed to block her every time. Gods of Olympus, she was _sexy_ with a blade.

Percy felt the rhythm return as they danced around each other. He felt riptide sinking into his grip, becoming an extension of his arm once more. He felt Annabeth’s mouth curve as her confidence grew, as strength started to radiate from her skin. She had some new moves, and he responded with his own. Tartarus had to have paid off in some small way.

_This is who we are_ , he thought as her knife slid across the length of his sword, _survivors of Tartarus, saviours of Olympus, and two really fucking kickass demigods in love._

His mistake was getting distracted. The second he started thinking how very much in love he was, he was pretty much a goner. Percy felt a pull on his shoulders and the world went upside down in an all too familiar way. He gazed up at Annabeth’s face, shining with triumph, her forearm against his throat, knife pointed at his chest.

“Really?” Percy tried to look unbothered. But he was flat on his back, and Annabeth was impressive. “A judo-flip? Again?”

“It’s kind of a tradition, right?” She smiled that smile, the one that always made it all worthwhile. And if it wavered at the edges, or shook with the strain of cracked lips, Percy didn’t notice. For the first time in weeks, he believed that they would make it out. Out of their heads, out into the world, to college, to a family, to hot chocolate in the streets of New Rome.

Annabeth’s eyes glittered as if she could read his thoughts. Which she probably could, dyslexic or not. The air crackled between them and Percy could feel heat arcing through his body from the tip of her knife and settling in some less-than-ideal places. He knew they’d stayed in this compromising position for a little too long, and he also knew he wanted to pull Annabeth down, close the space, and seal the deal. But the campers in the stands were watching, and the memory of what had happened the last two times they’d kissed like _that_ was a little too fresh.

She cleared her throat and moved to stand. The space between them was a physical thing, stretched taut.

“Should we go somewhere to, um, talk?” Percy asked, needing to get away from the prying eyes of all the campers in the stands.

Annabeth nodded, but he couldn’t help but notice that now they were up, the storm clouds had started seeping back into her eyes. As they left the arena, he saw Grover still sitting in the stands, face etched with worry.

Percy took them to the woods, and when they got there, he kept wading into the trees, hand firmly clasped in Annabeth’s, imagining the forest closing them off from all the noise.

She tugged on his arm after they’d been walking aimlessly for a few minutes. “Percy, stop,” she said, dragging him to a halt near the creek.

“Sorry, I just don’t want to be disturbed.” He leaned against a tree, breathing in the quiet. He’d missed this – the particular smell of the camp woods, pine and bronze and burbling water.

“What exactly do you think is going to happen here, Seaweed Brain?” She raised an eyebrow, but threaded her fingers through his all the same.

She stepped in front of him and Percy’s breath hitched as she leaned on him slightly. He felt the air crackle like it had in the arena as she closed in, pressing him into the tree and slipping her hands under his shirt. It still shocked him, sometimes, how immediately and viscerally his body reacted to her. How she, as far as he could tell, seemed to enjoy it.

The heat of her touch on his back, his chest, and _lower_ down nearly sent him spiralling. She ghosted her mouth over his jaw and Percy didn’t know what was worse – the tight, hot space between her lips and his skin or the complete lack thereof everywhere else. He wanted seize her in his arms, to grab her by the thighs, lift her up so that he could feel her core pulsing against his body, and let her devour him right here in the woods, but some cold, cruel part of his mind forced logic into the mix. 

“You –” he took a ragged breath, trying to focus on anything but the press of her leg in between his. “ You left again.”

She stiffened and withdrew slightly. Percy was reminded of the cold that had seeped into the cabin that morning when she’d left.

“We’re not supposed to be alone in a cabin.” She seemed to be looking everywhere except his face. Percy tried not to let his frustration show. “And you’re one to talk!” She continued quickly. “You can’t avoid everyone forever. People have noticed you’ve been – distant – since we got back.” She turned her face up to his. “You were gone a long time.”

Well, shit. His stomach rumbled uncomfortably.

“Is that why Malcolm was being all weird around me this morning?”

Annabeth’s eyes darkened. “You too? They’ve all been treating me like that. You’d think we’re walking around with signs saying _just escaped Tartarus_ taped to our asses.” Her hands circled around her knife. “I guess we have changed, but still…”

_Changed._ Percy thought of himself a year ago, riding the victory of the Titan War, someone who hadn’t dragged himself through Tartarus. Or lived under Lupa, or survived on the streets with nothing but a Panda Pillow Pet and the memory of a name. _Annabeth._ She hadn’t been someone who nearly choked people to death in the practice arena. Neither of them had been someone other campers flinched away from.

Percy took her wrist. “Do you want to talk about it?” _Please._

He knew she understood.

Her voice was brittle when she spoke. “It felt good.” She paused, but Percy waited, not wanting to break the thin momentum she had latched onto. “I’m usually a mess these days but when Sherman drew his sword I felt so focused, so…powerful.” Percy felt both of them stop breathing. “He was just another enemy I had to take down. After all the others it was…” She turned away from him. He could feel her pulse hammering where he held her wrist. “Easy. Fun.” 

Percy felt himself expanding. That ripple of power that had been scratching the underside of his skin surged back up, yearning for the light where it could be seen and welcomed. Did she feel it too? The tugging sensation that made him feel like he was floating? The momentary desire to let the cord rip free, to see how far he could reach?

“Annabeth, gods, I completely –”

She snapped a hand up to his mouth and went stock still, her eyes focused behind him. Percy leaned over the edge of the tree and saw a _myrmeke_ scuttling along the forest floor, less than twenty feet away from them.

“We aren’t near the Ant Hill,” Percy glanced at Annabeth. “Are we?”

She stayed silent, eyes still trained on the ant’s glistening abdomen. With a start, Percy noticed she had a knife clutched in each hand. He hadn’t noticed her carrying a second one. Where had she hidden it?

He turned his attention back to the giant ant. It’s head was pointed to the ground, sniffing after some trail.

“I don’t think it’s noticed us,” Percy whispered, wanting to keep it that way. Before he could turn to Annabeth and figure out why she wasn’t responding, he heard the hiss of bronze slicing through air and with a dull thud one of her knives landed hilt-deep in the ant’s back.

It whipped its head toward them, clicking and foaming. “Lead it toward the creek,” Annabeth said, her voice carefully flat. Percy stared at her, the questions already bubbling up inside him. But the scuttling was getting closer and his first instinct in a fight was to follow Annabeth’s lead.

Riptide drawn, Percy circled around the _myrmeke,_ using his blade to coax it forward, closer to the creek. He dodged sprays of acid and wriggling pincers, barely breaking a sweat. A _myrmeke_ he could take, easy. So could Annabeth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed that the knife in the monster’s back was angled strangely – a miss that hadn’t landed anywhere fatal. Percy had seen Annabeth throw knives. He had seen her land target after target from much further than twenty feet.

The ant scurried at the banks of the creek, cringing from Percy’s sword on one side and the water on the other.

“Now what?” Percy called.

“Push it in,” she replied from his left. Again he heard that deliberate smoothness, the voice she got when an idea was coming to life before her.

Percy hesitated for a moment. One slice with riptide and he could end this – why the creek? _Because Annabeth said so._ He drove the ant into the water.

Immediately the creature’s legs gave out and sloshed in the shallow creek, its hisses becoming more high-pitched. It writhed on its back and its legs flailed toward Percy, as if reaching to be pulled out.

“Little known fact,” Annabeth said from right next to him, “ _myrmekes_ have a debilitating fear of water.”

Something in him surged as she said that. He was acutely aware of the creek lapping at his toes. Annabeth moved from next to him and waded into the water. The creature was still screeching and struggling, but she made her way right up to it and wrapped a hand around the protuding hilt of her knife. Percy watched as she braced her legs and turned her arm, twisting the knife in the ant’s body, sliding it around as if searching for something. The ant screamed. It sprayed acid, but on its back and with Annabeth’s knife under its skeleton, the _myrmeke_ didn’t have much of a chance.

Annabeth’s face seemed to set, gears clicking into an expression Percy knew well. Grim satisfaction lined her face as she gave the knife one last jab and the ant went still. The same anger from the arena now seemed to emanate from every pore in her skin. Waist-deep in the creek, tearing her blade through the monster, she looked to Percy like something hopeful. Something that would fight for him and take down everything that had hurt him.

Percy tried to draw his attention away from her to focus on the ant. It wasn’t moving, but it also hadn’t disintegrated. _Well,_ Percy thought, _we can fix that._

_Fear of water, huh?_

“Annabeth, get back,” Percy called. She moved instantly, with the same confidence Percy had felt at her words.

The second she was out of the water, he let himself slide into the current under his skin. The tugging in his gut roared to life and surged throughout him, calling stronger than ever before. Maybe he didn’t need to be scared. Annabeth had glimpsed it too. Maybe it was something else they could share – like gray streaks in their hair, like Tartarus.

Barely conscious of what he was doing, Percy brought his hands out in front of him. He studied the ant. There was something about the way monsters moved that he was only just realising. The air seemed to burn and sizzle where it passed over the ant’s glistening body, like the essence of the Pit itself seeping out of the monster’s joints. Percy hadn’t noticed it before – but maybe it was a matter of recognition more than realisation. His skin twitched with the memory of poison air and it wasn’t too hard to imagine that he was back down there, staring helplessly as Tartarus took shape before him.

_I’m going to kill Gaea,_ Percy had said. _I’m going to tear her apart with my bare hands._ That hadn’t happened.

_Such a valuable pawn._ Gaea had been the one to say it, but Percy thought of the master bolt, of Luke, of Hera’s assumptions and Poseidon’s silence. _What if your pawn isn’t so convenient anymore?_

The water had already been swelling around the ant, but as Percy focused the redness on the edges of his vision, it whipped around the _myrmeke,_ lifting it into an impossibly tall column of swirling water. Percy could sense it struggling, liquid filling its throat. With a clenched fist, he forced the water down its body, around all its organs.

The pull in his stomach had practically lifted him off the ground. The creek, the ant’s body, the air around him – all of it was water, his to command.

Percy barely registered when the _myrmeke_ suddenly disappeared, the dusted remnants of its body washed away in the vortex. The tower of water still stood, writhing high above the treetops now. Still something inside Percy held on. _How high could I really –_

_“_ Gods, Percy, that’s enough.”

Annabeth put a light hand on his elbow and for a second, an infinite second, Percy’s hand twitched in her direction. Just as the column of water swivelled its head toward her, Percy felt a wave of nausea and brought the creek crashing back down into its bed. _Too high,_ he thought, _too far._

He feared the worst when he turned to look at her, but she didn’t look scared.

Instead she rubbed her eyes. “This can’t keep happening.”

The taut stillness that had seemed to seize her just a moment ago had dissipated. Percy heard the same fragility in her voice from when she’d been talking about the fight with Sherman. Now he realised it hadn’t been excitement, like he’d thought. _Hoped._

So it was just him who felt drawn to this brutal streak. He thought of how he’d felt the ant drowning and drove the water in further. Tartarus had twisted them both, but he was so far gone he couldn’t even hate the broken parts.

“Look at what we just did.” Annabeth seemed to be muttering to herself. “It hadn’t even noticed us…”

She held his hand with both of her own, turning it over and tracing it, as if checking for scars. Percy marvelled a little at the fact that she still wanted to touch him.

“Maybe this is what they were talking about,” she began.

Percy waited for her to explain, because she always did.

“My mom, Gaea, all of them – they said your fatal flaw would bring you down one day.” She poke fervently, her voice leaking out of the shaky space between breaths. Her hands moved to his face, lightly caressing his jawline, the beads at his neck. “Maybe this is it. Your loyalty to me. You jumped in after me and now you’re paying the price.”

He felt every tendon in his body stiffen. Percy had always thought they’d be on the same page about the things that mattered. Tartarus was horrible and he’d be scarred for life, but jumping after her had been one of the best and easiest decisions he’d ever made. Indignation surged inside him.

“What are you talking about? Jumping in, that was – I only – ” he sputtered. “I don’t regret it.”

He could see Annabeth bristle at his words, as she so often had before. “Of course you don’t. You’re too gods-damned obtuse –”

“Hey – !”

“Fine, it’s not just you. We’re not great at picking up on these things. It took us years to figure shit out and get together. I don’t want to spend years not realising this isn’t meant to work out.”

Percy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Never again, Annabeth. We promised.”

She threw her hands in the air and stepped away from him. “And look where that got us! Nearly killing our friends, putting camp in danger, _torturing_ monsters –”

“Maybe,” Percy cut in, anger making his fists clench, as if he was hoping to fight off whatever punishment Annabeth was proposing. “Maybe this is about _your_ fatal flaw. It’s not your fault! It’s not always up to you.”

“My fatal flaw is thinking I can fix everything.” He heard the tears in her voice and then saw them trickle down her face a second later. “I don’t know if I can fix this.”

Percy felt his throat twist as he spoke. He’d never been great with words, but now he felt the weight of what he needed to say. “Don’t do this,” he said, forcing his eyes to lock onto Annabeth’s even as she avoided his gaze. “You don’t mean that. Don’t let this fall apart. Not this.”

It felt strange, having the responsibility of their future thrust on him. Annabeth was usually so sure of where they were going and Percy was more than happy to just follow her. But he could see her approaching a cliff and he knew this time he had to pull her back, not just fall in with her.

_This is it_ , Percy tried to implore through his eyes. This, which started with rivalries and the saving of lives. This, an offer better than immortality, of hands clasped in the dark, of journeys across continents and glaciers and hellscapes, of anchors to the mortal world. Of desperate truths as the world faded to black. _He’s the one. He must be._ Percy took a step toward her. It _must_ be.

“Not…” Annabeth whispered, like a thought she couldn’t quite keep inside her head.

In the moments before he realised what she was about to do next, Percy wished they were in a bubble underwater, so he could shut it all out like he had the sirens, all those years ago.

“I should –”

“Don’t.”

“ – go.”

Long after she had turned and left, Percy sat on the forest floor with a single thought in his head. _Not this._ Over and over, hoping each time he’d believe it more than the last.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, Annabeth tried not to linger too hard on anything. _Keep moving, Chase,_ she’d tell herself. _Pick it up._ It was easier to keep focused on restoring camp and restarting her plans for Olympus. She could tell Chiron was trying to give her some room but she adamantly refused to take it and signed herself up for every job that needed to get done. 

In her dreams she rebuilt Arachne’s trap from the caverns, which at first held giant ants and spiders, and then the gods themselves. They’d scream at her, call her a miserable mortal, an ungrateful daughter, and she’d watch from a far-away hill with Percy by her side. He’d smile at her, full of pride, and she knew that in this dream-world there was no guilt, no quest through Rome, no webbing dragging her under.

 _Tear it down,_ she would say to him as Olympus burned, _then build it back up again._ She’d wake up panting, rage coursing through her, and desperately try to will it away. _For what,_ she’d always think to herself, _family?_

But she tried not to. She just skirted around it all like she was only scaling the climbing wall, dodging an inconvenient spray of lava. Of course, that meant avoiding Percy too, because around him her willpower crumbled like sand. When she wasn’t sleeping she relived that long walk from the woods, where Percy’s broken voice had hooked onto her spine like an anvil, making every step a fight. Sometimes she’d imagine herself running back, cupping his face and kissing him, consequences be damned. The memory of his rage, of herself egging him on kept her convinced it was better this way, that just because she was stuck down there didn’t mean she had to keep him pinned to her. Together, but at what cost? Not him, never him.

And if her chest screamed every time she turned away from Percy, if she laid awake for hours, skin burning with the phantom of his touch, that was her own gods-damned problem.

The hunters had left camp four days after the battle.

Before setting off, Thalia had grabbed Annabeth’s hand at the top of Half-Blood Hill and said to her, “You’ll get through this.”

Annabeth had grunted in response.

“You will. Both of you. Just – just stick together, yeah?”

She had wanted to squeeze Thalia’s hand back, but a ripple of anger had surged through Annabeth. _What the hell do you –_

“Go easy on yourself,” Thalia had whispered, before letting go.

Whatever that meant.

Annabeth had sat down, careful to avoid the Athena Parthenos, and watched her leave.

It was at the end of dinner nearly two weeks after the battle that Percy finally cornered her. She’d gotten distracted discussing plans with Chiron and hadn’t noticed that all the other campers had moved on to the amphitheatre.

Chiron, noticing Percy waiting at the edge of the table stonily, swished his tail. “Well, Annabeth, I think we’re sorted for the evening,” he said, and scampered off before she could think of any reason to leave with him.

Not that Percy would have let her, with the way he was glowering.

She tried to go casual. “What’s – ”

“It’s been days, Annabeth. What are you doing?” His eyes were round and shining.

“I’m – ” _what? Sorry?_ Her voice caught. _Scared?_

“So this is it? We’re just – done?”

She stared at the table, not even breath leaving her open mouth.

“This isn’t the answer,” Percy said, shaking his head.

Something tight curled in her throat. “How do you know that?”

“We’re not the problem. I don’t know why you don’t get that. I mean, unless you don’t want to be with me, in which case –”

“Percy, it isn’t that simple –”

“Yeah, it is!” He moved to the face her from the other side of the table and planted his hands on the marble surface. “If you just stopped avoiding me, I bet we could work everything out and move on.”

“What if I make it worse?” Annabeth snapped, building up whatever meagre defences she had left against the burn of panic in her chest, the heat of tears behind her eyes.

“There’s a lot I don’t know, Annabeth. But I know you never make it worse.” The hard set of his jaw made her think he was fighting back tears too. “Not usually, anyway.”

 _How can you still believe that?_ she thought. She couldn’t speak out loud. She couldn’t even try.

“You’re running away because you’re scared.”

She felt the sting of the accusation, but it was as true now as it had been a year ago.

“Don’t be a coward, Annabeth Chase,” he said, stepping back. He hesitated for a second as if waiting for her to move, then when she stayed seated, he spun and walked out of the dining pavilion

The tears fell hard and fast, and Annabeth didn’t know whether she was sobbing or yelling or just struggling to breath. She had though avoiding him was hard, but this? His pain shoved right in her face? _Damn you, Percy_ , she thought as everything she’d been stuffing under the rug came exploding out.

So it really was her, the reason why everything fell apart. Percy was willing, pleading, to work it out but here she was, afraid. Afraid to stop resisting and let herself heal. Afraid she’d bring them both down if she tried. Afraid she’d keep making his life harder until he realised she wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.

It had happened before, hadn’t it?

“Fucking coward,” she said aloud, partly wanting to hear the words and feel the hurt again.

Annabeth rushed out of the dining pavilion, not really knowing where she was going. Somewhere she could scream and fight without anybody hearing sounded good. She hadn’t looked where Percy had gone, but that didn’t matter. His face was already swimming in her head, curling to dust at the edges as if it were burning away. _Even this,_ she thought, stumbling through the courtyard, _even this wasn’t safe._

Almost blind with tears and chest pounding, Annabeth felt that Tartarus might just have been better than all of this. The sickly feeling was the same, after all, but here Percy wasn’t here to pull her forward. Down in Tartarus, all that had mattered was them, that they were together and alive, and she hadn’t had to worry about what was right or wrong or smart or whether things _worked out._

Just as she was about to break into a run, she collided with something strong and careened sideways. Finding her balance, Annabeth brushed the tears out of her eyes and looked down at a small girl in a brown dress.

She took a step back. “Lady Hestia,” she said, shakily. Then, remembering herself, made to bow.

“Annabeth Chase,” the goddess smiled. “There is no need to bow. I am not proud enough to ask, and we gods would not expect it, especially not from you.

Annabeth thought of her dreams and shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m glad I ran into you. Or, rather, you into me,” Hestia said, the flames in her eyes crackling warmly.

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth muttered, “I wasn’t looking.”

“I see. How often we lose sight of the things that matter most.”

“Um,” Annabeth began, already turning away, “I should get going –”

“And I’ve exhausted your patience. Forgive me. I ask only for a few minutes to explain why I’ve come.”

Annabeth forced herself to wait.

“I’ve been watching you and Percy for some time. What the two of you went through, to see you so robbed of any sense of safety…well, you can imagine how I must have felt.”

“Why?” Annabeth replied, trying in vain to keep the scorn out of her voice. “Since when have the gods been so concerned about a hero’s safety?”

“I cannot speak for my family, but since I left Olympus, the mortal world has been my home. Besides, you and Percy are not regular heroes, are you? Just look at how much you mean to this camp.” She walked over to the central firepit and sat at the edge of the flames. “I tend to this hearth, and it has been suffering along with you.” Hestia finished simply.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Hestia fixed her gaze on Annabeth, “I can help you find your way back to safety, back home. Sometimes all it needs is a little change in perspective.” The goddess held out her small, smooth hand.

Annabeth felt warmth emanating from Hestia’s palm. She hesitated, but Hestia had always been different, hadn’t she? _Nothing left to lose,_ Annabeth thought and grabbed the goddess’s hand before she could think twice.

* * *

Walking out of the dining pavilion and forcing himself not to look back, Percy felt like he was trapped in muskeg again. Every instinct told him to rush up to Annabeth, grab her and shake her until she talked to him, but he knew she was too stubborn to be forced into her senses by anyone else. A bitter part of him wanted to ask her how it felt, being walked away from.

It was just like the summer before the Titan War, when all the things they weren’t saying to each other seemed to slowly pull him apart and all he’d wanted to do was yell in her face. _You’re impossible! You’re insufferable!_ They had gotten that right from the start.

That, and the fact that they were better together. Ever since that day in the woods when she’d decided to shut herself off Percy had been slowly dissolving. Grover gave him anxious glances and couldn’t stop wringing his hands together every time they talked, so Percy eventually pulled away. Riptide still felt like a deadweight in his pocket, so he avoided the arena. Mostly he just stayed away from the rest of camp because whenever Annabeth turned away from him he felt the power coursing under his skin. The fountain in his cabin had eventually broken. Cracks had fissured from the seashells embedded in the limestone walls. There was an uprooted tree on the beach he had pretended to know nothing about.

And every time, the process started and ended with Annabeth. He’d see her from a distance, dragged down by the weight of her feet and the circles under her eyes, like he was the centre of a whirlpool and she was trying to force herself free. Percy would bolt, trying to get far away from everyone before he actually did create a hurricane, the stretch of the distance between them nearly turning him inside out. Waiting it out was always the worst part. Minutes would pass and he’d keep expecting a firm voice telling him to stop, telling him to come back.

 _Come back, Annabeth_ , Percy thought as he paced towards the lake. There it was again – the yawning divide between where he stood and where she was sat, the space between the streets of Rome and the skin of Tartarus. He’d been falling through it for days but couldn’t seem to reach the bottom.

The lake was empty. It was nearly curfew, but Percy was still grateful no late stragglers had decided to hang back. His first instinct was always to gravitate towards the water, but a growing part of him panicked at the tugging in his gut.

It didn’t used to be like this. Percy missed _enjoying_ his powers – the raised hair on his arms, the tang of salt on riptide’s blade, the thrill of knowing the ocean would rush to respond, but only when he called. Now that connection was thick, suffocating, milky green.

Maybe this was the Fates’ way of telling him he’d made a mistake down there with Akhlys. If he had finished the job, maybe Gaea would have thought twice about using him, maybe Bob would have made it, maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here falling apart as the camp was rebuilt around him. Besides, the only thing that had stopped him then was pretty much gone now, wasn’t it? She had made it this way.

 _Don’t think that,_ a small voice said in his head. But Percy barely heard it behind the roaring that was filling his head.

 _Brace yourself,_ Poseidon had once told him. Percy had thought his father was talking about the war – but what if he was meant for greater things than being a hero?

_Brace your damn self, Dad._

He let his blood surge to match the swirl of the water. His hand lifted, and Percy imagined he was reaching into the depths of the lake and tearing the current out from within. A mushroom cloud of water swelled from the centre of the lake, rising ten feet into the air.

Twenty.

Forty.

He saw naiads scurrying towards the shore, felt their panic bouncing through the water. Percy walked closer to the edge of the pier, grinding his feet into the boards and pushing the water higher. Stray drops flecked his skin, each one stinging and soaking in like a memory. On his arms, the old ache of Gabe’s fists. On his cheeks, the cold smile of an immortal. On his wrists, the last broken voicemail he had left for his mom. Sinking into his neck, Annabeth – kissing him, saving him, turning away.

Percy’s thoughts zeroed in on her as he felt his feet leave the pier. Writhing, swirling water wrapped around his legs and he reflected for a moment how it always came back to her. At the Wolf House, dangling over Tartarus, on phantom islands and palaces in the sky – eventually he was just a body pulsing to a beat: _Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth._

Barely able to think, he realised he was in the middle of the lake, being pushed down by the rush of the water. As it closed over his face, he noticed passingly that he couldn’t breathe.

 _Some things aren’t meant to be controlled_ , she had said, in Tartarus. _But what if you could control all of this, Annabeth?_ He tried to speak but only bubbles escaped.

_You’re the one with the hubris._

_Are you proud of me now?_

* * *

The second she grabbed the goddess’s hand, Annabeth cursed herself.

She was drowning in acid. Pure acid, so corrosive she couldn’t even scream. Her skin fried, and she knew this was the end. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe she never would have fixed things. But Hestia, of all of them…

As nausea rolled over her in waves and the edges of her vision began to close in, Annabeth numbly remembered all her training and tried to get a look at where and how she was dying. A river. Something floated past her – a bracelet? She craned her neck back. The acid blurred above her, and beyond it was a familiar face. Of course. Who else would be her dying thought?

 _I’m sorry_ , she tried to say, but the acid swooped down her throat.

Something was wrong. Percy’s face was gaunt and contorted. _Show me him happy, godsdammit. I don’t care if he hates me. Don’t be so miserable for once, Chase!_

She didn’t know how long she’d been boiling alive in this river, but it was long enough for her vision to come into focus around Percy’s face. She saw a distant light, jagged walls, and spiderwebs. _No. No. Not here, not again._ She saw his body, straining to hold onto the ledge, and his hand, reaching down into the river.

_Grab my hand, Annabeth!_

Her fear somehow worsened. If she dragged him into this acid as well…

Annabeth tried to shake her head, but he shoved his arm further into the water. _I’ll be fine! Never again, remember?_

She wanted to save him, tell him to pull himself up and let her drown. Desperation etched his features, like it had then. How could she save him and protect him at the same time? Was it always meant to be this way – together _,_ at the cost of everything? _I tried to protect you,_ she wanted to shout _, but I’m still dying, Percy._

His fingers stretched, so close now. The acid passed through her skin, burning away the hardness inside her, too. 

He was Percy, and just like last time, he had come to save her. Just like last time, she couldn’t seem to let him go.

Her hand pushed weakly through the acid and clasped his wrist. With strength she couldn’t comprehend, Percy pulled her out of the river and launched the both of them over the ledge, towards the light.

Annabeth felt hard dirt under her fingers. Somehow the pain had gone and her skin didn’t even feel raw. She whirled around, wanting to launch at Percy, to make sure he’d made it over the ledge, too, barely believing they’d made it out – but he wasn’t there.

Neither was the gaping hole to the pit, nor Arachne’s cavern. Cabins surrounded her, and a warm night sky glittered above. She could smell roasting marshmallows. Hestia sat by the firepit, still smiling serenely.

“You – ” Annabeth gasped. “You gave me a vision?”

“Yes,” the goddess replied, poking at the burning logs with a stick.

Annabeth rose to her feet, fists clenched. “You had no – why would – _that hurt!_ ”

“All epiphanies do, hero.”

“ _Epiphany?_ What in Hades –”

“The home, the hearth, safety – it’s all an anchor, wouldn’t you say? Percy has seen his and I have just shown you yours. Perhaps you will open yourself up enough to realise it.”

She stood up from the firepit and brushed off sparks from her dress. Even though she barely came up to Annabeth’s elbows, Annabeth took a step back.

“You may not be the only one in need of a reminder, hero.” Hestia’s eyes glowed brightly, and instinctively Annabeth looked away as the goddess assumed her true form.

The light disappeared and Hestia was gone. Annabeth sat down hard by the firepit. Already the memory of the pain was fading, but she could clearly picture Percy hanging above her. That image had never really left her since that day under Rome. Like a reflex, her body remembered the feeling of being pulled up instead of dragging down, how Percy’s grip on her had tightened, like he too could sense safety. The confusion began to fade.

Skimming the ground with her feet, she ran, but she didn’t have to think too hard about where he would have gone. As she left the courtyard, the first thing she noticed was the wind. It slammed into her, nearly ripping her hair free from its tie and shoving her towards the canoe lake. Camp wasn’t supposed to have weather like this. She jogged in the direction of the lake, fear clawing at her throat.

Annabeth had thought nothing else could scare her today after what Hestia had put her through, but as the trees cleared and she saw the lake, it was almost worse than the acid. The lake was imploding. A tower of water rose from the centre and crashed in on itself like a vortex. Leaves, rain, and even pieces of a broken canoe flew over and swirled around the lake, projectiles sharpened by wind.

She tried to force down her panic. There was a hurricane raging over the canoe lake – why hadn’t the rest of camp noticed? Hestia, again? Annabeth remembered what the goddess had said. _A reminder…_

“Percy,” Annabeth said, and immediately bolted straight toward the storm.

It was all she could do to keep the wind from propelling her straight into the water. For a second, Annabeth forgot to worry and just stared. Dazedly, she remembered the first time he’d been taken from her. In her despair, she had thought the news coverage was inconceivable – how could one 15-year-old destroy a whole mountain? Looking at the erupting lake before her, Annabeth thought that Mount Saint Helens had fared pretty well, considering.

She’d always known Percy was the most powerful demigod she’d ever meet, but now the realisation that had begun down in Tartarus hit her with full force. He wasn’t just underwater bubbles and the smell of the sea, he was this, too – storm, gale, and crashing wave, Perseus Jackson, son of the Earthshaker.

And he was drowning.

She caught a glimpse of orange shirt suspended in the torrent of water, writhing strangely, as if it wasn’t fitting in with the current. Oh, gods.

How could he be drowning? It didn’t make sense, but the longer Annabeth looked, the more it was obvious he was struggling against the pressure. Shaking with panic, she frantically swivelled around, trying to find an answer.

“Come on!” She screamed at herself, painfully aware that water didn’t take long to kill. She caught sight of a few canoes lined up at the banks that had managed to remain unscathed. _Don’t be ridiculous,_ a voice that sounded a bit like Athena scoffed in her head. _You’ll never make it._

Annabeth ran over anyway. “It doesn’t matter, Mom!” she shouted while pushing the canoe into the water. “Don’t you get it? Nothing else ever mattered!” _And while we’re at it, leave me the fuck alone._

She thought she saw a flash of lightning in the sky, but swung her oar into the water all the same.

Annabeth didn’t know how she even did it. The water lashed at her every move. Waves rose up fifteen feet on either side of her, and soaked her to the bone. Naiads screamed at her as they fled the vortex, where Percy’s body twisted. _Go back!_

Never. Never again.

“Hold on, Percy!” she half-sobbed into the wind. Maybe it was her desperation, or maybe it was the memory of Percy leaping after her, too, through cracks and spiderwebs and a collapsing cavern. If he could do that, she could steer a gods-damned canoe.

The water became wilder the closer she got to the centre. _Too long,_ she thought as her boat went nearly vertical, _too slow._ She struck a huge wave as it arose in front of her with her oar, somehow knowing the exact angle to break the current, but also losing the oar in the process. The wave crashed and the whirlpool in the middle of the lake expanded in front of her.

Immediately, the canoe started spiralling down into the lake. Annabeth barely noticed – she had just caught her first proper glimpse of Percy. He was at the centre of the funnel, reminding her a little too much of Charybdis sucking in the sea around her. He floated just above the lakebed, hands splayed out like his body was still controlling the water. But his face – Annabeth let out a silent sob when she saw it – his cheeks were pale, his mouth was gasping for air, and his eyes… they were glowing green, like poison.

Her canoe was nearing the centre now, and judging by the creaking of the wood, it wasn’t going to hold up for much longer. Annabeth felt it again, the panic and hopelessness of not knowing what to do. Percy was drowning. The son of Poseidon was _drowning._ And soon she would be, too.

As the canoe tipped into the centre of the whirlpool, Annabeth felt they were on a precipice again, hanging by a finger and staring into the long way down.

The vision of Percy’s hand extending into the Styx, so real, so painful, flashed across her mind. She remembered the steadiness she had felt when she’d grabbed it, the strength with which he had pulled her up. It had all been Hestia’s spell, of course, but the goddess had said it herself: Anchors. Reminders.

“Percy!” Annabeth screamed, and leaned over the edge of the canoe. She fully expected it to completely capsize, but somehow the balance held. Her arm reached out, only a few feet above him.

“Hold on!” Her throat felt completely raw, but he _had_ to hear her above the rush of wind and water. Percy’s head seemed to twitch, like her hand was coming into focus. For a second, the glow in his eyes flickered.

“The cord!” She didn’t know where the words were coming from. It felt like they had been sitting under her tongue for a while, waiting. “Remember your lifeline!”

His eyes sputtered, and she saw him lock onto her hand. Painfully, like the lake was also acid, he tore his hand through the water. Annabeth stretched her arm so far she could feel her joints shaking. _Just a little further…_

Her fingers were barely inches from his. “You’re –” she reached further, seconds from falling into the swirl – “not getting away from me – ” the air sparked and seemed to magnetise – “that easily!” Annabeth slammed her hand into his.

For an infinitesimal second, the water froze, still at the top of the curve. In that suspended beat, she curled her fingers around his wrist. A twitch, a small squeeze, and the moment lapsed. The water, swollen and reaching up into the sky, crumpled in like shards, aimed at the centre of the lake, at Percy. Annabeth saw it coming, knew her grip on the canoe was fragile, but still the shock of the torrent knocked the wind out of her as she smashed into the lake.

Water roared past her ears, pulled at her skin, pushed into her nose, her mouth, under everything, so fast she didn’t have time to shout. _Ah,_ she thought as her body twisted, realising she wasn’t even fighting it, _I get it._ Her entire world had zeroed in on Percy’s wrist, and although she didn’t have a ledge to hold onto, although her lungs were filling up with water, she didn’t think it mattered. She’d hold that grip, that flesh, those bones, the tendons underneath, through anything.

Amidst the avalanche of foam and bubbles, Annabeth briefly saw Percy’s glowing eyes slowly shut.

The lake seemed to a breath, and with an exhale, relaxed.

Her first thought was that the water caught her. It bent around her body, falling with her then slowly rising back up. Small particles swirled in shafts of moonlight, and the normally still current swirled around Annabeth’s hair like it was dizzy. As the lack of air made her ribcage scream, she thought for a second that this was the lake she loved – a pocket world, a place of soft green glows, bubbles, and kisses with…

Percy. Her vision and panic closing in, she groped at his arm, feeling for a pulse, anything… _please…I can’t…_ If she could have breathed, Annabeth would have sobbed. _I’m sorry,_ she thought, desperately. Maybe he’d know…her throat began seizing up…he’d hear somehow…her grip on his wrist began to still… _I can’t pull us up_ …

The final pocket of air she’d been saving escaped, a tiny bubble seeping from her lips.

For a moment, everything really did go black, but in the lingering corner of her conscious she felt the rhythm of the current change ever so slightly. The water around her torso turned into solid arms and she was breaking the surface, face pressed against the wet skin of Percy’s neck.

Annabeth took in gulping breaths of air that wasn’t howling or drowning her. She felt the pulse in Percy’s neck with her lips, and pressed her mouth against his skin, letting his heartbeat reverberate through her body.

His body tensed as he moved to face her, and before he could pull away too far or speak, Annabeth kissed him, all teeth and tongue and lake water. After days, the blood in her veins sang. He didn’t seem to be too bothered with questions, and grabbed her under the surface of the water, pulling her torso flush with his.

The image of him gasping for air under the water kept slicing across her mind and she pulled back to stare at him. Color was returning to his cheeks, and the eyes behind his thick lashes were a steady sea green.

“We’re okay,” she panted, her tears dripping into the lake.

“Annabeth,” he breathed, voice raspy. She loved that voice – spoken dreams in the belly of a ship, a call in the midst of battle, whispered promises that she wore instead of clothes when they were alone. Her name lifted off his tongue like a vow. “I’m so sorry, Annabeth, I –”

She smashed her lips against his and softly said into his mouth, “ _Shhh._ I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry for pulling you down with me,” she ran her fingers over his brows as they furrowed, “and everything that’s happened since.”

“You – ” Percy said haltingly, taking several deep breaths like he was trying to push the water out of his lungs. “You came back.” His eyes fluttered, swimming with tears and what Annabeth thought might be oxygen deprivation.

She fought down a sob. _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. I’ll never leave again._ A thousand apologies threatened to burst out of her mouth but she bit her tongue, knowing he wanted to finish speaking.

“We can – figure this out – together. But I need your – your help” he squeezed her waist, and Annabeth felt his arms tremble. “And – _never –_ apologize for Tartarus. Not – not your fault.”

“I know, I _know_ ,” her voice was mostly breath, skating over each word. “You’re right. I understand now. You coming after me, us staying together – that’s my anchor.”

She stroked his neck and explained – Hestia’s vision, the Styx, how she’d been dangling over the mouth of the pit since that day in Rome and had only just let herself trust him to pull her out. Trust, despite everything, that they would find a way back to something safe. Something permanent.

His face clouded over with thought. “Just now – the lake, your hand..” He snapped his head toward her. “I’ve been feeling it – the cord, like a tugging – it was the _cord…”_

Annabeth nodded, wondering how she could have been so stupid for so long – hadn’t it always boiled down to this? How had she ignored this and convinced herself it didn’t matter, that they weren’t linked, intrinsically and irreversibly?

“And you –“ Percy continued, a little more energy entering his voice, “you saw me, too? In the Styx?” A realisation seemed to suddenly strike him and he ran his hands fervently up and down Annabeth’s arms. “But – oh gods, are you hurt?”

A smile broke across her face. “I love you,” she said, and again, unable to wait, she kissed his face, jaw, ears, neck – anything she could reach. Her hands slid over his slick and gleaming skin and she thought _gods, he looks good wet._ The same weight that had been dragging her into the earth for weeks now expanded, threatening to lift her away if not for Percy’s tight grip on her hips.

“Wait,” he said, pulling away slightly, breathing heavy again for completely different reasons. “So what I’m hearing is Hestia put you through the pain of bathing in the Styx, with none of the perks of invulnerability?”

“Just character development. Whatever that’s worth.”

“These fucking gods –

“We’ll take it up with them later,” Annabeth cut him off hastily, too impatient to keep talking.

She splashed into him hard, weeks of hardened resolve unravelling in her chest. And Percy – gorgeous, _amazing_ Percy – sunk right down into the water, the bubble already expanding around them. He knew the drill. They drifted to the bottom and the naiads mysteriously steered clear of their corner of the lake.

For the first time since leaving Tartarus, she kissed him without distractions. No clammy hands, no jarring memories, no out-of-control powers, just wet skin smearing against the walls of the bubble. With only the hum of the lake and their merging breaths breaking the silence, Annabeth felt like right now, she could die happy. 

“Percy,” she sighed, with every stroke of his tongue over her breasts. Again and again, she spoke his name like a heartbeat, against his throat, his hipbones. She traced the small of his back like she always loved to, and that pull tautened and slammed them together, hard and soft and heated.

The pulse of their bodies echoed in her mind – _closer, closer_ – like she was making up for all the painful distance she had forced between them. She revelled in it, this surety with which she sank down onto him, the confidence with which he held her in place and made her scream his name into the current. The way he touched her skin like it had to be savoured, letting the taste linger before diving in for another bite, she could tell he’d been waiting a while for this – for everything that they had been through to make it all _better_. And, with electricity arcing up and down her body like she really _was_ invulnerable, Annabeth realised she’d been waiting too.

It wasn’t all fixed, she was aware of that. She wasn’t sure when her anger would fade, when Percy would regain control of his powers, or when she’d be able to sleep through the night. People were still dead and her dagger still felt wrong in her hand. But if this was here – an outstretched arm around a wrist, a crumbling ledge, lost in a tangle of limbs, Annabeth knew she’d get there eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Just a short piece I thought of a few months back, borne of my love for angst and percabeth. Hope you enjoyed it, please leave a comment <3


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